


Tenacious Capitulation

by marleymars



Series: Attachment Theory [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Smut, no it's really just an elaborate excuse for smut, smutty smutt smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marleymars/pseuds/marleymars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was oh so easy to tell himself that he regretted that night when he thought he would never have to see Irwin Smith again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank everybody who liked Evening the Score. You’re all precious babes, and I really mean that. You guys asked for it, so here is the sequel. You can read the first story if you want. I’m not gonna tell you what to do. This one is going to be done in two parts (meaning there’s no porn in the first chapter, just stupid boring plot, but I’m uploading both pieces at once so it’s cool). Sorry if any of the side characters are OOC, they’re acting how I need them to act. 
> 
> Tosa inu = Japanese mastiff, and Romulus is based on an actual dog I used to groom of the same name. I’m not worried about using his name because I seriously doubt his owners read gay anime porn. And if they do then they don’t know where I live, so nyeh. 
> 
> Also, I am weak and was unable to restrain myself from loading this with random grooming facts. I am not sorry. Ya’ll gon learn today.

October in a grooming salon was like the calm before the storm. With the holiday season looming, all the groomers and bathers knew they would be working themselves to exhaustion. People became a little crazy around those days when they would be having crowds of visitors in their homes, and they wanted everything to be perfect and clean, including their pets. They would call the salon at all hours, and there would be walk-ins galore, and they would wait hours in the lobby for the first opening that came along.

It was always the same. First came the test run that was Thanksgiving, then there was the one-two punch of Hanukkah and Christmas, and they even had people calling to have their dogs groomed for Kwanzaa some years. Nobody objected to any of this of course. Holidays meant three things in a groomer’s mind; holiday tips, gifts from customers, and big fat commission paychecks. To Armin, who had grown up with very little, the amounts of money he made during those two months alone was somewhat alarming.

Ever since getting a job at the salon owned by the Renz family, though, he had grown accustomed to the litany of holiday cards and trays of baked goods (and one year a box of chocolates with brandy inside that they’d wound up eating on the job). Like everyone else he hung the cards up around the mirror at his workstation, along with pictures of his dogs, and friends, and—until very recently—his boyfriend.

Now the pictures of Jean he had once carefully taped to the wall, and tucked into the edge of his mirror were hidden away in the bottom drawer of his grooming cart. Ymir had wanted to burn them in some sort of “cleansing ritual” but Armin had simply pulled them down and stuffed them away where he didn’t have to look at them. “I could always just break his legs instead,” his coworker had offered afterward. He had regretfully declined, though he was touched that she cared enough to offer. Up until that point he had thought that she didn’t even like him all that much.

“Do we have any glow-in-the-dark nail polish?” Christa asked as she dug through the drawers at her station. Halloween brought its own run of strange requests, but they always had themed accessories on hand for every occasion. A bored-looking golden retriever sat on her table, his coat resplendent in the brief post-grooming window before he went out into the world and rolled in a puddle of mud. As far as any groomer was concerned, they didn’t care what messes the dog got into as long as they stayed clean until their owner picked them up.

“Look in the junk drawer,” Armin told her absentmindedly, and she jumped up, racing across the salon to heed his suggestion. The dog watched her go, and yawned. Technically they weren’t supposed to leave them on the table without supervision, but after a while one developed a sense for which dogs were jumpers. Most of the animals would simply stand there, or fidget. It was actually rare that they would try to escape, at least while they knew the noose was still attached.

In the lull between appointments Armin stood at the desk, one hand tapping at the computer keyboard as he perused the grooming database. His other arm was busy cradling a shivering, nervous Chihuahua mix who snarled at anyone else who came too close, be they human or canine. To his left stood Ymir, chatting away on the phone with some customer, and simultaneously scribbling something down in the appointment book. Armin was tuning her out, preoccupied with editing the Chihuahua’s information in the computer. That is, until he heard her say his name.

“Of course…Yes, Armin is very good…thank you, sir…we’ll see you soon.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she set the phone in its cradle and turned to regard him with an uncharacteristic grin.

“Someone requested me?” he asked as she leaned a hip against the desk.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, the wide bearing of her grin giving him a sense of unease.

“Alright, so what?” Armin had a good handful of clients that requested him specifically. That didn’t explain why she was leering at him like the Joker.

“It’s a new client,” she said.

“So?”

“So, they didn’t put the call in themselves.” She waited for him to respond, but ended up continuing before he could think of anything appropriately sarcastic to say, “They had their secretary do it. And he wouldn’t give the client’s name. You know what that means?”

“Do I want to?”

“That means that in approximately thirty minutes were gonna have some rich yuppie schmuck’s assistant walk through those doors. And you know what rich yuppie schmucks do when they find something they like?”

“I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

“They tell all their dumb friends about it, and that means we’re about to start catering to a very exclusive brand of clientele.”

“Yeah, great,” Armin said with a roll of his eyes, “A bunch of picky, rich penny-pinchers, whose dogs will all be crazy, spoiled lunatics.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist, Armin,” Ymir chided, that frightening grin widening. Armin swore he could see the dollar signs dancing in her eyes, and knew there was no point in trying to disillusion her. For all they knew it was a prank call, or perhaps the person hadn’t wanted to give their information over the phone. Some people were just paranoid like that.

“Did they say why they requested me?” he asked instead, glancing down curiously at the appointment book. Whatever response Ymir gave to his question was lost as he read the name of his next appointment and felt his stomach drop: _Romulus, Japanese mastiff, request_. No. It couldn’t be. That would be absolutely ridiculous. Only there was no way that this was a coincidence, that there were two Japanese mastiffs in this city named Romulus. This was absolutely _not_ acceptable, not in any way, shape, or form. _Please, God, if you exist, please don’t let him walk in here with that dog._ If miracles existed, then he really would send his assistant to do his dirty work rather than make an appearance himself. He was a busy man after all. Or so Armin assumed.

_Dammit. I don’t even know anything about the man_. Yet another bullet point on the long, long list of reasons why Armin was ashamed for sleeping with a man named Irwin Smith. The name was just about all the knowledge Armin possessed pertaining to the individual, aside from the fact that he was wealthy beyond reason and exceptionally good-looking. None of that excused the fact that he had used the man—or had been used by him—while he was emotionally compromised. For all Armin had known, Irwin could have been some kind of psychopath. He could have chopped the blond up into little pieces and fed him to his dog, and no one would have been any the wiser.

And now he was bringing his dog to the salon where Armin worked, apparently with little thought as to how that would make the blond groomer feel. There were twenty minutes left until the time of the appointment. Armin used the period allotted to work himself into a state of extreme irritation and discomfiture. Neither Ymir, or Christa, or anybody Armin called friend or acquaintance knew about what had happened in the hours after he had discovered that his longtime boyfriend had been cheating on him. No, that was a painful secret Armin kept buried in the back of his mind. It had been nearly three weeks since it had happened, but he could still remember every touch, every word of that night, and his mind would recall these instances at the worst possible moments.

Moments like now, when he was vacuuming up the accumulation of dog hair, knowing what the future held for him and being unable to stop thinking of the way he’d screamed when Irwin had been fucking him into his king-sized mattress. _Why me?_ he thought miserably.

Christa finished painting the golden’s nails, and let him down off the table. They had a no-caging policy, which meant that at any given time there were usually several dogs underfoot. Only those with behavioral issues were locked away, like Armin’s Chihuahua buddy who was now huddling in the corner of a small crate in the back of the salon. Most of the dogs got along perfectly well, and people liked to see them running around free, though the groomers got tired of explaining over and over again why caging them wasn’t cruel. Dogs were den animals, and felt more secure when they could rest in a small, confined space, provided it was big enough for them to move around in comfortably.

The minutes ticked by, and Armin couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the clock. The appointment had been made for three, but sometimes people thought they were being helpful by showing up early. In reality, it was more of a hindrance since the groomer was probably still trying to finish up their previous appointment. The fact that Armin wasn’t doing anything of import didn’t mean he wanted the dog to arrive early, or even at all. People made appointments all the time that they just didn’t bother showing up for. Normally it was aggravating, but on this particular occasion he didn’t think he would mind it much at all.

When the minute hand hit three, he jerked up straight to look at the door. There was no Irwin, or Romulus. Three-oh-one came, then two minutes had passed. Each minute that went by lessened the likelihood of the client showing up, and at five past Armin was actually beginning to relax. Then came the small _whooshing_ sound of the door opening. No salon in their right mind would have bells over the door, not with a bunch of easily distracted animals in their care. But they were all attuned to the rhythms of their workplace, and all three groomers looked up at once.

_Jesus take the wheel,_ Armin thought over the sound of the dryer. Ymir had a grumpy little schnoodle on her table, and Christa was chasing after her golden with an orange and black bandana. Armin swallowed hard, and forced himself to move toward the desk.

“Sorry I’m late,” Irwin said to him.

It took a vast effort to make his vocal chords obey, but Armin managed a polite, albeit stiff response. “It’s fine. You can sit if you like, I have to get your dog signed in, sir.” _Sir_ , he mentally scoffed as he reached for the client information clipboard. Attached to it were several sheets of identical paper, detailing things like vet information, emergency numbers, and available services.

As he rounded the desk and pushed through the little doorway between himself and the lobby, Armin found his knees were weak. It was a wonder he could walk at all, much less maintain an outward appearance of detached cordiality. Irwin chose not to sit, and Armin was treated once more to the vast difference in their relative height and size. _I can’t believe I let_ that _fuck me and survived_ , he thought, biting his tongue in order to keep a straight face. If there was a God, then it was a cruel one. Irwin was just as unrealistically attractive now as he had been that night. Armin hadn’t just imagined or exaggerated it in his guilt-laden memories.

“So,” he said, hearing the slight pitch in his voice and cerebrally kicking himself for it, “What would you like to have done for Romulus today?”

Irwin regarded him dispassionately, as if Armin hadn’t seen that calm façade screwed up into an expression of ecstasy. The dog himself sat by his master’s side, panting slightly and looking up at Armin with bright, expectant eyes. Of course the animal remembered him, and clearly Romulus had no reason to pretend as though they had never met.

After what felt like ages, but was probably only a few seconds, Irwin replied in an equally polite but disconnected manner. “Whatever you think is best.” Relief flooded through Armin, not to mention gratitude that the businessman wasn’t here to screw with him. If they could keep this professional, then maybe he could make it through the day without humiliating himself further.

Armin went down the list, collecting all the pertinent information and asking the standard questions. Romulus didn’t have any medical conditions he needed to be aware of, so he moved on to services. “Do you want any specific package for him, or just the standard bath and brush?” Armin asked.

“Why don’t you just give him everything on the list?” Irwin suggested.

Armin looked up from the clipboard and regarded him incredulously. “Everything?”

“Everything within reason, yes.”

“Th-that will be kind of expensive, sir. And it’ll take a while to finish,” Armin stammered out, as if Irwin lived in a penthouse but couldn’t afford to get his giant dog groomed.

“That’s fine,” Irwin said. Armin only nodded, and went down the list, checking off all the add-ons that could be applied. Aside from deskunking or a flea bath, that included nearly everything they had to offer, Armin thought as he mentally tallied the cost. On top of the base price, Romulus was looking at a two-hundred and fifty dollar bath.

“Just sign here,” Armin said, fighting a scowl as he handed over the release. “We’ll call you when he’s done. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.” All pretense of politeness evaporated. Now he was brusque and clearly annoyed, but he had no idea why and that only served to irritate him further. He could only surmise that he was upset because by giving Armin such a large commission Irwin only seemed to be trying to curry his favor. Yes, that had to be it. Nobody had ever asked for the whole bathing package, not even the best-off members of their clientele. Normally rich people were the first to complain about the price, but Irwin scrawled his name without even glancing at the total.

Romulus followed obediently once his leash was handed over and Armin led him back behind the desk. Irwin left without another word, both to Armin’s relief and frustration. Just what sort of game was the bastard playing at? _If he thinks I’m going to fall for his cool-guy act, he’s got another thing coming_.

The door had barely swung shut behind the businessman before Christa released a cry that made Armin nearly jump out of his skin. “Oh my God, Armin! Armin do you know who that was?!” she shouted, bouncing over to him and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“What? No!” he hastily denied.

Thankfully she failed to notice his seemingly inexplicable repudiation in her excitement. “That was Irwin Smith!” she cried, eyes bright with excitement as Ymir released a groan from behind them.

“Is he that business guy from the news the other day?” the taller woman said.

“The—the _news_? He was on _TV_?” Armin asked as the entire world took on a grim new light.

“Yes!” Christa said, releasing his hands and ducking down to pet Romulus. The mastiff was politely sniffing noses with the golden, tail wagging as the petite blonde ridded him of his collar. “He’s the chief executive officer of Titan Enterprises! And he was just in our salon!” She continued to lavish attention on Irwin’s dog as Ymir muttered over her schnoodle.

“You and your financial shows,” she said. “Honestly, who watches that stuff except for stuffy old men?”

“You’re the one who’s obsessed with money,” Christa shot back pleasantly, “Besides; it’s my mom who’s into it. I just happen to watch with her sometimes.”

For his part, Armin’s mind was too busy reeling with all of this new, unwanted information to take part in the conversation. He stood there, still holding Romulus’ leash even though the dog was no longer attached, and had to force himself to get a move on. If he didn’t find something else to occupy his mind then he thought he might start screaming.

_He’s famous_ , he thought, _he’s famous and I didn’t know who he was and I had sex with him_. And of course he’d done so obliviously, because he barely even watched the regular news, much less the financial networks. The thought brought on a brief moment of hysteria, and he would have started laughing if he didn’t value his coworkers’ opinion of him. “Come on, pal,” he said to Romulus, who followed him dutifully over his grooming station.

At least the dog was agreeable. Armin remembered Irwin mentioning that he was a show dog, so his compliance made sense. Show dogs were trained to put up with being poked and prodded and to follow direction without a fuss. Romulus saved Armin having to call on one of the girls for help with lifting by jumping up onto the table, and then into the tub when it was time for his bath. He stood when he was told, and accepted having his nails clipped and ears cleaned without so much as batting an eyelash. As far as any groomer would have been concerned, Romulus was absolute perfection.

“You’re a good boy,” Armin told him, and the dog gave him a look of pure adoration, wagging his tail as he was scrubbed down to his skin. “Your dad is a dink, though.” Thankfully, nobody else heard him, and Romulus just cocked his head in that stupidly cute way that made Armin want to squish his face.

With all the services compiled, Romulus’ bath took well over an hour. Armin left him to soak several times in different coat treatments, and the big dog would just lie down and wait for him to return. At least his coat dried quickly, though with the size of him even that took almost another whole hour, which was far longer than most bath dogs usually needed. In the end, Christa wound up joining him with the other drier, and by the time he was finished being brushed it was nearing six o’ clock.

“I can’t believe this guy requested you,” Ymir said with a scowl, looking distinctly less pleased now than she had when she’d first made the appointment. “You must have met him before, right? What’d you run into him on the street or something?”

“Ah, yeah, something like that,” Armin agreed. She didn’t need to know under what circumstances they’d met, though.

“You’re a lucky little shit,” she muttered. “Any one of us could have done just as good a job. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s just a bath dog.”

“Don’t be jealous, Ymir,” Christa chided sweetly, “Armin deserves this after the month he’s had.”

“Thanks, Christa,” he said, truly grateful for her mediation. Whenever they had an unruly customer, or Ymir butted heads with somebody, it was Christa who stepped in and calmed things down. Sometimes Armin wished he had her way with people, until he remembered that people were dicks.

“No problem. Do you want me to call his dad?” she offered.

“Yes, thank you.” At least he wouldn’t have to talk to Irwin over the phone. Romulus hopped down off of the table at Armin’s direction, and found a clean spot on the floor to lie down on. The golden was gone, as were their other appointments. All things said, it had been a slow day. Once Romulus was picked up, they would likely close up shop and go home, so they all set about cleaning. In short order, the salon was sparkling, and there was nothing left to do but wait.

“Hey, Armin, you don’t mind if we take off, do you?” Ymir asked as he sat at the desk, stroking the soft, smooth fur on the top of Romulus’ head. The dog had lumbered over and dropped his chin onto Armin’s lap with a pleading look, and he had had no choice but to comply.

“Um, no, not at all,” he said, which of course was a total lie. He minded very much if they left, because if they did then he would be alone with Irwin when the man showed up.

“Cool,” Ymir said, “Have fun with your rich pal.”

“Bye Armin! Don’t forget to lock up!” Christa said, giving him a wave as she shrugged into her coat. He waved back, and watched them leave with a feeling of dread.

Not ten minutes later came the sound of the door opening. Armin had tried to occupy himself by using the shop computer to play games on the internet, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from jumping to his feet like a frightened little fawn. “Hi,” he said stupidly as Irwin entered. He was staring down at his phone, expression unreadable as he approached the desk.

“Hello, Armin. I trust Romulus was well-behaved,” he said once he had tucked the device away. Armin tensed at the more familiar tone he used, even though he continued to keep up his cool frontage.

“Yeah, he was,” admitted the blond. Romulus had also jumped up when he’d heard the door open, and was now standing on his back paws, front feet up on the desk as he wagged his tail and whimpered. “Oh, really? You’re gonna start crying _now_?” Armin huffed as he reached for the dog’s leash.

Inside Armin was seething, but he thought he kept it pretty well hidden as he let Romulus loose into the lobby. The big dope ran over to his owner and head-butted him, which admittedly made the blond smile. _Take that you Armani suit-wearing bastard_. With a deep breath he approached the businessman and reached down to grab the trailing leash. When he stood up he made sure to meet Irwin’s pale blue eyes with his own.

“So,” he began, “You could have mentioned while you were fucking me that you’re famous.”

Irwin blinked, then said in a deadpan that made Armin want to hit him, “The opportunity never arose.”

“You couldn’t have just thrown it out there?” Armin scoffed, “I mean, what if some paparazzi asshole saw us making out in your car and sold it to a newspaper or something?”

“My car has tinted windows.”

“That’s not the point!” Armin snapped. “I’m just some kid you decided to bring home, and you’re this big important businessman who’s been on television. Did you ever think that maybe I wouldn’t want that kind of connection to you?”

“As I recall, you’re the one who came onto me.”

“Well, you could have said _something_ ,” Armin said shakily, “You could have said ‘no,’ for instance.” Irwin didn’t seem to have a response for that. “And how did you find out where I worked, anyway?” he demanded. Now that he thought about it, Irwin’s appearance back in his life was a touch unsettling.

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out,” said the older man, “There are only so many grooming salons in the city, and it’s not very difficult to locate a specific person in such a humbly populated field.”

Armin released an unsteady breath, and roughly handed him Romulus’ leash. That was all well and good, but it didn’t make it any less creepy. “Your total today is two-fifty,” he said coolly, “Can you please pay me so I can go home?”

The blond returned to the other side of the counter, and found his humiliation was compounded when Irwin handed him one of those black, million-dollar limit credit cards. Forget the two-hundred and fifty bucks. This man could buy and sell everything in Armin’s whole life without a second thought.

While he waited for the register to compute Irwin’s purchase, he stared pointedly at a spot somewhere over the man’s shoulder. Cars were whizzing by outside, their headlights splashing across the salon’s large front windows. Armin couldn’t wait to get home and lock himself inside his apartment for the night. In there he would finally be able to let down his guard, unless his nosy landlord decided to come poking around.

This time when Irwin spoke he didn’t jump, but his eyes immediately darted back to the imposing man’s face. “I apologize if you feel that I misled you at any point,” he said in that soft commanding voice. Armin bit down on his tongue again, hating the way his words made shivers run up and down his spine.

“Thanks,” the blond muttered stiffly.

“However,” Irwin continued, “You’re the one who knowingly and willingly used me to combat your emotional turmoil.”

“Am I supposed to say sorry for that?” Armin asked, arching an eyebrow at him as the register chugged out a credit slip for him to sign.

“I don’t expect you to.” He couldn’t decide if those words were meant to be venomous or not. Irwin showed absolutely no emotion, neither in his voice nor on his face.

“Well…I am sorry,” he murmured, handing over the piece of paper and a pen. “I just…I’ve never done anything like that before. And I don’t think I will again.” Irwin said nothing, just signed his name to the slip. With a strange sense of desperation, Armin hurried to elaborate. For some reason he felt the need for Irwin to understand his actions, even though he didn’t quite understand them himself. “I felt so terrible afterward. Not because of you or anything, but just guilty.”

“Why?” Irwin asked him softly.

Armin shrugged, “Because you’re right. I did use you. And that’s…that was a shitty thing to do. So…sorry.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Irwin to say to that, but it surely wasn’t what the man actually wound up saying. “Armin, I have a proposition for you.”

“A-a what?” Armin said, hearing the alarm in his voice. What, was he going to ask to sleep with him again, because there was no way in _hell_ —

“I’m a very busy man, and I’m afraid Romulus doesn’t get as much attention as I’d like to give him.”

“Okay,” Armin said hesitantly, unsure as to where Irwin was going with this.

“I had to take off early from work today just to bring him here,” the older man said, reaching down to rub between the dog’s ears. “Most days I work from eight in the morning until well past normal business hours, and I’ve been thinking of hiring a dog-sitter.”

“I…I already have a job,” Armin quickly objected, seeing now what he was getting at.

“I’m not saying you would have to stop by every day. Just whenever you can, to take him for walks or just to check on him. He’s sort of a lazy thing, but he doesn’t get nearly as much exercise as he should. And you would be well-compensated, of course.”

Armin was speechless. He felt his jaw working, and the words that came out were not what he wanted Irwin to hear him say. “Just...just what are you trying to pull?”

“How do you mean?”

“You—I’m not going to sleep with you again. Ever,” Armin informed him, folding his arms across his chest in a show of defiance.

“I wasn’t asking you to. I need a dog-sitter, and you work with dogs.”

“Fine, well…Why me then? He’s a show dog, right? You must know other people who could do this for you,” Armin pointed out.

“Of course. But they’re all quite…how should I put this? They don’t resonate as well with him as you do,” Irwin said, expression becoming thoughtful as he explained, “He’s usually rather stand-offish with people, but he warmed right up to you. If I have to find somebody else, I will, but I’d rather leave him with somebody who I know he likes.” Armin bit his lip, and looked down from Irwin’s dumb, handsome face, to his dog’s dopey, hopeful one. It was probably just his imagination, but Romulus seemed to be anticipating his answer.

Heaving a sigh, Armin reached up and wearily dragged a hand down him face. “Alright. I’ll do it. For _him_ ,” he relented. “And if you try to hit on me even once, then I’m done.”

“I assure you, you’ll barely ever see me,” Irwin responded with the hint of a smile. “What’s the usual going rate for a dog-sitter these days, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Armin admitted, “Like, twenty bucks an hour I think.”

“That seems a bit paltry. How about a hundred?”

“What? No!”

“Five?”

“I didn’t mean ‘no, that’s not enough,’ I meant, ‘no, that’s way too much,’” Armin clarified, “I’m not exactly hurting for money. You don’t need to pay me some exorbitant fee.”

“A hundred an hour it is, then,” Irwin said with a nod, ignoring any further protests Armin might have made, “I’ll have somebody drop by with the key to my apartment tomorrow. Good night, Armin.” All the blond could do then was watch him leave with his jaw hanging open. Somehow he felt that he’d just gotten himself involved in something that was going to be far more trouble than it was worth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys have never played Tokyo Jungle then you should, because you can be a tosa inu and take over the city of Tokyo with hordes of tosa babies. If that sounds weird to you, then you’re right, it is really weird I keep getting eaten by dinosaurs and it pisses me off.

There was something about walking a hundred and forty pound dog down the sidewalk and watching the crowds of people part before him like Moses parting the Red Sea that gave Armin an enormous feeling of satisfaction. On the other hand, it also annoyed him to no end that people were actually afraid of the large russet mastiff plodding along calmly at the end of his leash. Other people walking their dogs were being dragged, or tangled up, or outright ignored. Romulus was the best-behaved of them all, and nearly everyone who looked at him did so with some measure of fear, as if they thought the big goof was going to jump up and bite their heads off.

The satisfying part mostly pertained to the looks that people gave the one walking the dog. Armin weighed about ten pounds less than the tosa, but he had no difficulty handling him. Even if Romulus had been one of those loony dogs that tried to haul him around like a sack of potatoes Armin wouldn’t have had as hard a time walking him as some people. Just like anything else in life, proper dog walking took practice. There was a science to it, and Armin refused to let any dog yank him down the sidewalk, no matter how big.

Just as Irwin had promised, the day after Romulus’ bath some guy in a suit had stopped by with an envelope that not only contained a key, but several sheets of information on the type of care the CEO expected to be imparted to his dog. Armin admittedly was impressed in spite of himself; there were so many people who treated their dogs more like an accessory than a living being that needed to be cared for. Somehow, he had been expecting that Irwin would be the same. Sure, the man had brought his dog in for a bath, but Armin had perhaps wrongly assumed that that was just an excuse to pester him. Romulus might be a show dog, but Irwin obviously thought of him as more than just a pet.

With some trepidation, he had driven his car over to the businessman’s penthouse, parking in the designated guest area and taking the elevator back up to the top floor. The place seemed different during the day. It was less intimidating in the sunlight, even though Armin had to punch in a security code in order to gain access to the large apartment. Once inside, Romulus greeted him with a skittering of claws and a sloppy dog-kiss.

“I can’t believe this place,” Armin had muttered to him. Being there alone made him uncomfortable, so he’d clipped on the dog’s leash and hurriedly made his escape. That had been a week ago, and much as Armin dreaded inadvertently running into Irwin, he knew he was already growing quite attached to the man’s dog. He had even gotten up early the day before and brought the mastiff into work with him. Romulus made a good shop mascot, more so than Christa’s snooty little Papillion, Baby. He was calm and well-mannered, and he would lie on the floor and let the smaller dogs crawl all over him like he was a doggy jungle-gym.

Today Armin had the day off, and so had decided to bring Romulus with him while he met up with his friends for lunch. There was a café in midtown that allowed well-behaved dogs in their outdoor section, and though it was cold they still served customers outside provided the weather was clear.

When he arrived, his best and oldest friend, Eren Jaeger, was already waiting for him. “Holy shit,” he said as Armin slipped through the rope barrier around the café tables, guiding Romulus inside with a careful hand. “That dog is bigger than you are.”

“You don’t say,” Armin replied, adding just a touch of sarcasm so that Eren rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Arlert. I was just saying. Come here, mutt,” he said, holding out a hand for the dog to sniff, “Damn, he could fit my whole head in his mouth.” Romulus warily trotted over to greet him, stretching to smell his hand so that he wouldn’t have to get too close. Irwin was right about one thing; the dog certainly didn’t take to most people as quickly as he had to Armin, though he was never aggressive in any way. He let Eren pat him, then flopped down to the pavement and watched Armin take a seat with droopy eyes.

“Where’s Mikasa?” Armin asked.

“Bathroom,” Eren said, “The waiter already came by, so I ordered you a coffee.” Armin thanked him, and tied Romulus’ leash to the leg of the heavy iron table so that he wouldn’t be able to wander off. Not that he would, of course. “So…,” Eren said after a moment of them sitting there in silence, “How’s it going?”

Armin knew what he was really trying to ask, but Mikasa had clearly been giving him some sorely needed lessons in tact. What Eren really wanted to know was how Armin was faring in the whole post-Jean debacle. He had a particular interest in the subject, seeing as how he had despised Jean from the jump. According to him, that feeling was now entirely justified. “Fine,” Armin replied. He wasn’t really. The whole thing still made him hurt, sending prickling waves of sadness emanating out from his chest whenever he unintentionally thought of the two-timing asshole. But clinging to it, griping over it wasn’t the way to get over his pain.

“Please,” the brunet said with another roll of his eyes, “You can’t fool me, Armin. Jean practically ripped your heart out of your chest and tossed it in the garbage right in front of you; you can’t tell me that you’re ‘fine.’”

“Really, Eren,” he said with a sigh, damning his friend’s keen insight into his emotions. They had known each other for far too long. “I’m fine. A lot better than I was, at least.”

“It’s not good to hold these things in, y’know,” Eren said as their waiter arrived and set out their drinks. Eren told him they weren’t ready to order yet, and the man went scurrying back inside where it was warm.

“I’m not holding anything in,” Armin denied.

Eren looked to be readying another counter-argument, but a voice behind them cut him off. “Eren, stop antagonizing him. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, then you can’t make him talk about it.”

“Thank you, Mikasa,” Armin said, sticking his tongue out at Eren as the tall, dark-haired girl took a seat across from him.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Eren relented, though Armin figured he would likely try again later. He knew the brunet meant well, but he really didn’t want to talk about it anymore than he already had. There just wasn’t that much left to say now that it was all said and done. Jean had left him for somebody else, and Armin had quickly realized that he had no desire at all to try to win him back. He would be perfectly happy in fact if he never had to see the back-stabbing jerk ever again.

“Armin,” Mikasa said after taking a sip of her tea, “how is your new side-job going?” At least she had the good grace to avoid asking him awkward questions, and he felt a rush of gratitude toward his second oldest friend. Although he and Eren had known each other longer, Mikasa had become a member of their tight-knit little family almost right off the bat. That, of course, had been well over a decade ago, so now it was hard for him to even remember what things had been like before she came around.

“Not bad,” he said, “I keep telling the guy he doesn’t need to pay me so much, but he won’t listen.” The few times he had spoken to Irwin over the phone since accepting the job had each found him bringing up the subject of payment, but the older man wouldn’t hear a word about it.

“Pssh, poor you. ‘Oh, my boss pays me too much, he’s such a dick!’” Eren cried mockingly, “Seriously, Armin. One of these days your conscience is gonna get you into trouble.”

“I just feel guilty,” Armin said with a shrug, though he didn’t add that being paid so much made him feel a little dirty. He _had_ slept with the guy, after all, and the whole situation was more than a little awkward.

“He _is_ the CEO of an entire company,” Mikasa said in that reasonable way of hers, “I don’t think you need to feel guilty about taking his money.” They didn’t get it, and admittedly that was mostly his own fault. If he didn’t tell them the whole story then they wouldn’t be able to understand, but the shame still bit at him whenever he thought of his night with Irwin, and so he kept his mouth shut.

Still…maybe he could tell them _something_ , without exactly divulging all of the details. For a while he listened to them chitchat—ever since moving to the city they all had found separate lives, but they always made an effort to get together to catch up. Mikasa had just gotten a job at a major accounting firm, and Eren was working on getting his masters in architectural drafting. Their lives sounded so much simpler than his, though he knew that was selfish of him to think. He knew that school was in no way a simple thing, nor was entering the work force. At least they weren’t foolish enough to get themselves tangled up in a situation like his.

As they conversed, he sat and tried to think of how to broach the subject of Irwin without revealing who he was speaking of. When the waiter brought them their lunch, his friends lapsed into silence. Eren reached over to steal some of Mikasa’s French fries and as she slapped his hand away, Armin finally worked up the courage to blurt, “I met somebody.”

“Ow, Mikasa, Jesus,” Eren grumbled, then, “Wait, what?”

“So soon?” Mikasa asked with a frown.

“Well…I don’t know…it’s complicated,” Armin mumbled, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut.

“You can’t just say that you met somebody and then shrug it off with ‘it’s complicated,’” Eren reproached. “What happened?”

“He’s…he’s older than me,” Armin said, “And…I may have slept with him. It was a mistake, though. But now I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what he expects from me, and it’s freaking me out.” The last few sentences he spoke in a rush, and when he looked up he saw that his friends were regarding him with concern.

“I could deal with him if you like,” Mikasa asked, “If he’s bothering you, that is.”

“I’ll kick his ass up one side of the street and down the other,” Eren added bluntly with the same scowl he wore whenever the subject of Jean came up.

“No, it’s not like that, it’s just…Ugh, never mind. I shouldn’t be bothering you guys with this.”

“You’re not bothering us, Armin,” Mikasa assured him, “But I wish you’d realize that you’re perfectly capable of dealing with these things on your own.”

“Yeah, you’re the smart one,” Eren added, “You’ve gotta have some confidence in yourself. I mean, you deal with animals all day that could probably kill and eat you, and you don’t have a problem with them.”

“Dogs are different,” Armin said, and it was true. An animal was much easier to converse with than another human, especially one like Irwin, whom he just couldn’t seem to be able to read. As shrewd as Armin was, and as skilled as he had gotten at dealing with people, something about Irwin just threw him off. He couldn’t tell if he was being manipulated or not, and it bothered him to no end.

As if sensing his discomfort, Romulus rose up from his spot on the ground and nudged the blond with his nose. Armin gave him a pat, and offered him a French fry, breaking Irwin’s rule about no people-food. “Don’t tell your dad, alright?” he said as the dog swallowed his treat, and waited expectantly for another.

There was always a sadness that descended over Armin when he and his friends had to part ways. Mikasa had to run errands, and Eren had a project he needed to finish, so after a crushing group hug they split apart. The only one who had nothing else to do that day was Armin, and so he wandered, following in the lumbering wake of his furry charge. Romulus, of course, was unopposed. Apparently the dog had his own hidden agenda, though the blond didn’t take note until he saw that they had arrived at the gate of the sprawling city park. “And people say dogs are stupid,” Armin muttered.

Beyond the entrance were myriad trails and playgrounds, and even a small enclosed dog park. Armin surmised that the mastiff must have been here before with his owner, because Romulus lead him straight to it. “You wanna play with some other doggies, huh? Alright. Be good. Don’t hump anybody,” he said, stepping through the chain link gate and unclipping the dog’s leash. At this time of day, there weren’t all that many dogs around, and those that were present seemed wary off the massive dog that now walked amongst them. _Poor guy_ , Armin thought, _even other dogs are scared of him_.

There were benches stationed around the edges of the play area, so that the owners could sit and keep an eye on their pets. Armin seated himself on the edge of one, and leaned forward, head in his hands and elbows on his knees. I should quit, he thought. Agreeing to being in Irwin’s employ had been a bad idea from the start, but some part of him had agreed to do it for Romulus’ sake. Or at least that’s what he’d said. Now he was pretty sure that he’d gone and done it all for his own selfish reasons, because, let’s face it, Irwin was a handsome bastard who’d fucked him senseless and he’d liked it.

“Oh, God, I’m so gross,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands as for the millionth time his dumb, traitorous brain treated him to a barrage of images from that night. Yes, he was definitely going to quit. Tonight he’d call Irwin and tell him, and that would be that.

“Excuse me?” Armin started, sitting up straight and twisting around, expecting the voice he’d just heard to belong to an irate dog owner. But the speaker was not even inside the fence, and Romulus was busy digging a hole underneath a tree, and not bothering anybody. “You’re Armin, right?” said the tall, dark-haired man leaning over the fence and regarding him with a sheepish expression.

“Um, yes? Can I h—,” Armin felt the word stick in his throat as a memory from a wholly different incident came screaming up from the recesses of his mind. It was hard to believe that two such strongly impacting events had both happened on the same day, but Armin remembered both with astounding clarity. He remembered opening the door to Jean’s bedroom, seeing two men on his bed, one of them Jean, and one of them the nervous-looking man standing on the other side of the fence.

He took a step back and swallowed hard. _Control yourself_ , he thought, reaching up and coughing into his hand. “Ahem. Can I help you?”

“Well, I just…I don’t know if you remember me, but, well, I’m—,”

“I know who you are,” Armin interrupted tersely, “Marco, right?”

“Ah, yeah…Jeez, this is pretty awkward, huh?” he offered Armin a guilty smile, one that was not reciprocated. “Right, well. I know I’m probably not somebody you really want to talk to, but I saw you sitting over here and…Look. I’m sorry about what happened. Jean is too, especially after the talking to I gave him for what he did. He didn’t tell me…well, I knew about you, but he made it seem like things were on really rocky ground between you two. That doesn’t make it any better, but…,” he trailed off, eyeing the hand Armin had held up to forestall him.

“I’m sorry, Marco. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m really not in the mood for this right now.” He had far too much on his mind to deal with _this_.

“No, no, I understand, I just…I told Jean he needed to apologize, but he doesn’t think you’d want to talk to him.”

“He’s right.”

“And I totally understand,” _no you don’t_ , “I mean it. You need time, and I just wanted to apologize for my part in all this. Really. I’m so sorry.” He hung his head as he said it, freckled face reddening as his fingers curled between the metal links of the fence. Armin clenched his fists, then loosed them. More than anything, he wanted this moment to be over. He would give anything for Marco to just shut up and walk away, to never, ever cross paths with him again.

“Is that all?” he heard himself say. Marco looked up, lips pursed, expression that of a man who is well and truly repentant.

“Yeah. I guess,” he said. “So…I’ll see you.” _God, I hope not_ , Armin thought as he watched Marco trudge away.

“Romulus,” he called. The big dog lifted his head from his rapidly growing hole in the ground, and trotted over somewhat reluctantly. “Come on, big guy. Time to go home.”

It took half an hour for him to get back to where he’d left his car, and another thirty minutes for him to get back to Irwin’s penthouse. The place was just as silent as ever, empty, and for that much he was grateful. _Why_ , he thought as he lingered in the doorway, watching Romulus amble toward the kitchen. It just wasn’t fair. Why did Marco have to be so damn _agreeable_? Armin had been hoping that he would be a horrible person, not that bashful, freckled idiot. He’d wanted to be able to _hate_ him.

He found himself moving toward the sofa, and let himself flop down onto the upholstery, for once unmindful of its value. These cushions held some significance for him, after all. _This is where I sucked his dick_ , he found himself thinking. For some reason the thought struck him as particularly funny, and he began to giggle, first quietly and to himself, and then in great peals of laughter. A wet nose touched him and made him jump, the sounds dying in his throat as Romulus looked up at him with an expression of mild concern. “I’m fine, pal,” he said, “just losing my mind is all.”

He realized then that he was tired. Tired of all these thoughts, and tired in general, both mentally and physically. It was early yet. Irwin wouldn’t be home for hours, and he’d told Armin he should feel free to make himself comfortable if he ever felt the need. And frankly, Armin had absolutely no desire to go back out into the world just now. Who knew who he would run into next if he did? “I think it’s naptime, Romy,” he said to the mastiff, “Go lay down.” Armin tugged off his shoes, pulling one of the throw pillows over to cushion his head as he tucked his feet up behind him on the couch. _Just a half-hour_ , he told himself. _Wake up in half-an-hour_.

Normally he was pretty good about these sorts of things. He was the sort of person who woke up before his alarm clock went off in the morning, though he didn’t always get up right away. A tiny part of him must not have wanted to wake up in time to safely make an exit, because the next thing he knew he was opening his eyes to darkness and looking around in a haze of groggy confusion. “Crap,” he grumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing at his eyes.

“You’re awake,” a voice said to his left, and he nearly fell off the sofa in fright. In an effort to save face, he quickly scrambled to his feet, and turned to face the man seated on the far side of the room. He was reading in the light of a small lamp, seated in a chair beside a massive bookcase. _Was he just sitting there while I was sleeping? Fucking sketchball_.

“You’re home early,” Armin noted, grateful that he was able to keep his voice steady. It was only five-thirty, and that meant he’d been asleep for almost three hours.

“It does happen on occasion,” Irwin stated. _Conveniently whenever I’m around_ , Armin thought as he silently cursed the universe.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked tired. I thought you might need the rest.” God, it like talking to an attractive rock.

“Okay then. Well, I’ll just get out of your hair,” Armin said, sitting back down and reaching for his shoes. As he was tugging at his laces the living room light snapped on, and he looked up to find Irwin leaning against the wall, watching him.

“Is everything alright, Armin?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said the blond as he finished tying his shoes and stood up to leave. “Why?”

“You don’t look well.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said, pointedly making his way toward the door. Unfortunately he had to walk past Irwin to get there. A hand fell on his shoulder as he tried to maneuver by him, holding him in place and making his hackles rise.

“There’s no need for you to be so mistrustful of me,” Irwin said, and Armin snorted, shrugging his hand away.

“Actually, there _is_ something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, “I don’t think this whole arrangement is going to work out. I quit. And you can keep your money.” He reached into his pocket for his keys, meaning to remove the ones that let him into the building and the CEO’s penthouse, but that same big hand closed over both of his, pushing them down.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Armin?” Irwin asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. His voice was low, and he was staring with that _look_ on his face. The look that wasn’t a look, the one that made Armin want to scream and rip his hair out. Nobody had ever been able to get under his skin the way that this man did with his damn unreadable _face_.

“No,” he said, meeting that steady gaze with a defiant one. Irwin’s hand still covered both of his, and he slowly became aware of the way that the older man’s thumb was gently massaging his wrist. From very far away he heard his keys clanging to the floor, and then he was fisting his hands in the bastard’s shirt collar, tugging him down and kissing him with a furious need. He was on his toes, and he felt a pair of hands pulling him closer, one in the small of his back and the other tangled in his hair. Their mouths opened together, and he seized the opportunity to push his tongue past Irwin’s lips, raking it over the opposing muscle and pulling it back before the older man could deepen the kiss. Instead, he grabbed a lower lip between both of his own, tugging back on it before slowly tracing it with his tongue.

Evidently, Irwin didn’t like his little display. Or maybe he liked it a little too much. Either way, Armin found himself being spun around and shoved into the wall. Crushed between Irwin and a solid object made him feel dizzy with lust—the only thing he could feel was the older man’s body molded against him, strong arms holding him in place as he was summarily punished for teasing. He submitted wholly to the rebuke, moaning as Irwin kissed him with a nearly bruising force. _This shouldn’t feel this good_ , some small, irrelevant voice murmured in the back of his head.

When they broke apart he found that he was lightheaded—he’d never been kissed so hard that he completely forgot the need for oxygen. “Holy shit,” he gasped into the older man’s chest, clinging to him because he wasn’t sure he could stand on his own at the moment.

“We can stop now, if you like,” Irwin said, practically out of nowhere.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Armin demanded, leaning back and glaring up at him.

“You said, and I quote, ‘I’m not going to sleep with you again. Ever.’”

“Well, fuck what I said, I was having a moment.”

“You’re sure?” In lieu of a verbal answer, Armin slid his hand down and palmed Irwin’s already hardening cock through his slacks. He bit his lip and arched his body against that of the taller man as he kneaded the front of his pants. Now that it was about to happen again he could admit it to himself; this was what he’d wanted since their first night together. The realization sent a hot rush of shame to redden his face, but his indignity was forgotten as Irwin took hold of his wrist, pulling the hand away from his poorly concealed erection in a strong but gentle grip. “Wait for me on the sofa,” he said, and Armin could only nod his acquiescence.

He sat stiffly on the edge of the middle cushion and removed his shoes again, then his coat. Would Irwin want to undress him, or should he do so himself? _Fuck it_ , he thought as he reached down and tugged up the hem of his shirt. By the time Irwin returned from shutting away the dog, he was down to his boxers. There were no hints of disapproval on the older man’s face; he just looked hungry in a way that sent Armin’s entire blood supply straight to his crotch. He _loomed_ , and when he reached for the blond it made his stomach jump with anticipation.

This time when they kissed it was slower. Armin pulled Irwin toward him as the sofa cushions sank underneath his weight, leaning into the back of the couch as he did so until the taller man’s body partly covered his own. He raked his fingers through Irwin’s short, immaculately combed hair, spreading his legs to accommodate the CEO’s torso. Their tongues wound together, all _heat_ and _wet_ , and Armin heard himself moan into the kiss, his body nearly shaking with desire as he was pressed into the cushions beneath them.

“Tell me what you want,” Irwin rumbled into his mouth, and Armin felt his cock positively _throb_ in response.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said quaveringly, “Hard. Like you did last time.” Irwin seemed willing to comply, if the way he ducked his head to bite at Armin’s neck was any indication. “Ha- _aah_!” the blond gasped when he felt a large hand slide down his stomach and into his underwear to stroke him. “ _Irwin_ ,” he moaned as teeth dug into his flesh. The hand on his cock rubbed a callused thumb against the head, and he ground his teeth together, choking back a strangled noise of ecstasy.

His boxers were pushed back, caught mid-thigh where they met the obstacle of Irwin’s still fully-clothed body. Armin tugged at the obstructing cloth with hands that were too eager to be steady. The buttons on his shirt wouldn’t submit to his attempts to undo them, and the look of amusement on Irwin’s face only served to further frustrate him. “Fuck,” he growled, “Can I just rip it off?”

“Can you?” the older man asked, cocking an eyebrow as his expression once again became otherwise neutral. Armin took it as a challenge—the guy owned a whole “ _enterprise_ ,” after all. He could afford a new damn shirt. Buttons popped as he gripped the collar and tore downward, too desperate to care about the tearing fabric. Triumphantly, he yanked the shirt free, tugging it open and trying to shove it off down his shoulders, but he was foiled again by one of those troublesome hands. Irwin clutched his hand and kissed it. Armin watched the act with confusion, and then the older man was redirecting the hand, sending it toward his waist, and he understood.

The belt was more cooperative than the shirt, and Armin pushed the slacks down just far enough to comfortably free the older man’s cock. It throbbed hotly against his own, and the very nearness of them made him arch up into Irwin’s hips. There was that bottle of lube again, in those awful hands, and Irwin sat back just enough to free up Armin’s legs and rid him fully of his underwear. His knees were pushed up, slick fingers probed into him, and he couldn’t take it. He clutched at any part of Irwin he could and pushed against the digits, fucking himself on them, trying unsuccessfully to find his own prostate. “Oh, please,” he whimpered, pressing his head back into the cushions.

Irwin pulled away from him, and he felt abandoned until something crinkling skittered onto his stomach, making him jump. “A condom?” he said, experiencing a wild moment of panic. Irwin couldn’t want him to…to…

“It’s an expensive sofa,” the older man explained.

“O-oh,” Armin said, feeling stupid. He couldn’t recall ever having to wear a condom, but he realized belatedly that doing so could have spared him several loads of extra laundry. It felt strangely constricting, but when he touched himself he didn’t think there was much loss of sensitivity, if any.

There wasn’t a whole lot of time allotted for him to overanalyze it. Irwin took hold of his shoulders and gently turned him, pushing him facedown toward the cushions. “Wait, no,” Armin said, “I want to see your face.” He’d been denied that the last time, watching Irwin when he came, and he wasn’t going to let the older man push him around again. Irwin hesitated, and he twisted out of his grip, quickly turning around and reaching for the older man, pulling him close.

“I prefer it the other way,” Irwin informed him.

“Too bad. Hey!” Armin protested as his hips were turned forcing him onto his side. He was fully prepared to squirm away again, but Irwin didn’t roll him any further than that. Rather than force the issue, he was being given a compromise, and he victoriously accepted the CEO’s kiss. Irwin used the distraction to guide the head of his cock into the blond’s slickened opening, and Armin released a sigh; _finally_.

He reached up to stroke Irwin’s neck as the older man eased into him, biting his lip again as the strange angle rubbed against places he hadn’t even known about. It stung a little, until the older man hooked an arm under his leg, spreading him wide open so he could go deeper. Something about being stretched to the limit was immensely satisfying in a way he couldn’t describe. Irwin’s thrusts came slowly, and Armin was content to let him build up a momentum. There was something to be said for the deliberate way he rolled his hips, the pleasure a soft and gradual burn. This wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before, and a part of him thought it felt too gentle, too much like making love for what this really was. “Faster,” he panted in spite of himself, and Irwin complied.

Fire crept through his veins, and he gripped the couch cushions as the hastening cock inside him struck that _spot_ , the one that made him sob a strangled version of Irwin’s name. There were lips on his face, and he turned to greet them, his whole body jerking in time with the thrust of those hips. He was being crushed by this man, and the position made it awkward to wrap his arms around his neck, but he managed, fingers curling into the short, soft hairs he found on the back of Irwin’s head.

“Good,” Irwin groaned into his ear, and it sent thrills like lightning-bolts shooting up his spine. Knowing that he could give pleasure as good as he was getting made it all the better. _Now_ he was being fucked, the entire couch shaking with the way he was being pounded into, and he fought to form a coherent word until even those efforts were washed away and he could only scream.

When he came this time he thought he literally might die. If Irwin had had any control left at all at that point, it all unraveled, and his thrusting became uneven, stuttering, but still so good, _so good_ Armin had to focus hard in order to see his face in the dark. The orgasm tore through him as Irwin was _grinding_ into his prostate, and his vision seemed to go completely black, his mind blanking.  He didn’t even care if he’d missed watching the older man come again because he was lost on a high that he didn’t ever want to come down from.

Eventually he did, though. Slowly, at first, deliriously, body aching, tingling. He opened his eyes, and found himself in bed. Irwin had moved him, and he hadn’t even noticed. The CEO was also conspicuously absent, and Armin tried to move, tried to get up to go find him but his legs were too weak to work, so he collapsed back onto the mattress in defeat. There was a rectangle of light on the far wall where he knew the bathroom door to be. A minute later the door swung open, and Irwin was momentarily limned before turning the light off.

The mattress creaked, and Armin accepted the warm body that stretched out next to him, curling into it with a yawn. “How do you feel?” Irwin murmured to him in the dark.

“Good,” Armin said.

“That’s all?”

“You said the same thing when you were fucking me,” the blond muttered.

“Fair enough.” Arms encircled him, and he gave up on being annoyed at how comfortable it made him feel. He was nearly asleep when Irwin spoke again, asking him silly questions in the middle of the night. “Do you still quit?”

“No,” Armin said, “Yes. I dunno. Be quiet, okay, I’m tired.”

“I’d like it if you didn’t.”

Armin was quiet for so long that he was sure Irwin must have fallen asleep by the time he answered. “I won’t,” he said, knowing full well what he was really agreeing to, “But I’m not taking your money. I’m not a prostitute.”

“Prostitution is a noble profession,” Irwin murmured into his hair. Apparently he had nearly fallen asleep after all. Armin snorted, the noise soft and small. He tried to think of a snarky quip, something to shoot back at the CEO, but nothing came to his pleasure-muddled mind. _Oh well_ , he thought. He’d have plenty of chances to think of a good one in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* Guess what. *shouts in your ear* THERE’S GONNA BE ANOTHER SEQUEL. This is actually probably gonna be a series, so yeah. Go me.


End file.
